Hoxton's Hottest Dog

It was The German's idea. She knows how much me, The Foodie and The Pin Up love animals. Specifically dogs. So when she suggested that we head down to Shoreditch Bark Dog Show (see what they did there?), we didn't hesitate. Hipsters and hounds, what's not to love?

However, when telling people that my plans for Saturday were going to a dog show, I mainly got the reaction of  "....what? A DOG show? .....why?" On the way to the park, we discussed whether it was actually strange that all of us, dogless, were going to a park. To look at the dogs of other people.

"I mean, is it weird though? Is it like adults hanging around a kids' playground? Are we - doggyphiles?"

As expected, this being Shoreditch, there was a high density of people wearing boat shoes and big glasses. But it felt weirdly communal for London, we chatted a bit to a lady who owned a magnificent Labradoodle called Archie. Well, communal and friendly until the witless teenage boys starting antisocially kicking off. The German handily gave us a running commentary.

"Look! Fatty has Ginger's shoes, look!"

We discussed various dog breeds between squealing "Awwwwww! Look at him! AHHHH!". The German has some strong ideas about Labradors which the Pin Up independently backed-up some time later.

"Labradors are fucking thick. They are stupid. They eat poo - seriously, they eat poo and the darker coloured the dog, the more they love eating shit. Not even just their own. It's true!"

We watched the classes with interest (and slight perturbedness when the vet who was compering the event kept talking about how good looking the dogs were in a slightly breathless and eager way), cheering the winners and telling our favourite dog owners that they "were robbed" when they didn't get placed. One of the highlights of the day was during the 'Me and My Best Friend' class where children entered with their pooches for the judging panel to assess who had the best bond. The class had to be stopped part way through as an overexcited entrant pulled it's teeny child guardian across the ring. On it's face. There were tears. (Admittedly ours as we giggled.)

After we all fell in love with an adorable Lhasa-Poo puppy called Huxley, and we tried to figure out if we could fit it in anyone's bag, we wandered down to Shoreditch for some afternoon refreshments. The German played a classic in the 'language barrier' game she likes to throw down on the odd occasion.

The German: "So when are you moving house?"

The Pin Up: "A week on Monday."

The German: "On Monday?"

The Pin Up: "No, a week on Monday."

The German: "On Monday?"

The Pin Up: "No.... a week from Monday."

The German: "No, but I mean, you're moving house on a Monday?"

The Pin Up: "....yes."

Me: "You could have saved yourself a good five minutes of conversational cul-de-sac had you just used the 'a' before Monday."

Sometimes it's our duty to educate her. We then, her English boyfriend included, convinced her that the correct English pronunciation of 'maths' was actually 'marrrrrrths', as we worked out the bill. We are good friends to her.

Trying to run...

Today, I went for a run.

I say went for a run, I mean I staggered breathlessly round Victoria Park and tried not to trip over crazed grey squirrels.

I love Victoria Park. It's a glorious green oasis in the midst of high rise blocks and fried chicken shops. The grand gates beckon you inside the boundaries and promise a haven of quiet within the madness of East London.

Today was a perfect day - cold, crisp and sunny. I bolstered myself to go and do some exercise and walked briskly to the park. It was quieter than usual, only the hardcore joggers and some casually cool couples strolling around. The light was magnificent - the wintery park was bathed in low golden sunshine that shone through the mist and the skeletal trees.

So, running. I really want to be able to run. I love the idea of sticking your iPod on and losing yourself for a few miles, pounding the streets and focusing only on your stride and breathing. The reality however is somewhat different. I'm not a natural runner. I'm just not built for it. Today I felt ambitious due to my gradual improvement on the cross trainer in the gym. Turns out, doing 6k on the cross trainer without too much pain is not comparable to actual, real life running.

As I built up my stride around the park, I was sad I didn't have my camera with me. There were beautiful shots everywhere. The first tableau I came across was a statuesque man on roller blades setting up flourescent orange cones in a neat row, presumably to practice some intricate footwork. He cut a striking figure against the misty soft-focus background and pulled some excellent shapes while skating around and bending down to adjust his markers.

I attempted to jog around the park, setting myself small goals like reaching the next bench, but I was overtaken by an athletic-looking man who sprinted past while expertly pushing one of those fancy off-terrain-type prams with one hand. He was going at quite a speed and I was slightly concerned that he could trip at any second and send a baby spinning off in the distance, but he was out of sight before he broke stride. Shame.

One thing about Victoria Park that disconcerts me is the squirrels. I mean, they're everywhere. And not cute little squirrels. These are chinchilla-sized beefcake squirrels that apparently have no fear. In the past, No'rn Ir'on and I have been power walking around the park and I've naively exclaimed, "Oh how cute! Look, he's coming over!" - only to be confronted by a creature that's half American Grey Squirrel and half bare-knuckle fighter. These little critters stare you out at close range then actually come at you. No'rn Ir'on's actually been chased by one before. Today a big gang of them appeared to be having a party under a tree. At least seven squirrels hopped around, tails bobbing cheekily, and gave innocent passers-by evil looks. I jogged hastily past.

Another gem of Victoria Park is the lake. An impressive fountain sprays water in the middle of the lake, the low sunshine shining through and casting rainbows over the water. The Pavillion Cafe is always bustling with people enjoying some organic fayre by the water. A multitude of birds flock around them: swans, geese, coots, ducks and seagulls swoop in circles over head. I was captivated today by the elegant swans gliding across the golden silver silhouetted lake. They look so graceful; but this was quickly negated by watching a young swan exit the water. It still had it's cygnet grey down but was growing to be a huge swan. It swam to the edge of the water and suddenly heaved itself out and plonked itself on the shore. I swear the ground shook. It was like a small pony.

The Canada Geese lined up on the edge of the lake, a row of five stood on one leg in perfect harmony and watched the gulls overhead in total synchronicity. It was like a troupe of Eastern European gymnasts, poised for their choreographed routine. But with more feathers.

As I alternated between brisk walking and huffing and puffing during the attempts at jogging, I started to really enjoy myself. I love being alone outdoors and the weather was perfect - I was hot but the fresh gusts of wind felt greatly refreshing. In some spots in the park, the constant of East End traffic actually dies down and all you can hear is dogs yapping and birds squawking. Despite loving city life, I am at heart a rural girl. If I was asked at any point, what would I like to be doing right now? The top two answers would always contain the same: on a magnificent Hunter or Dutch Warmblood, cantering across rolling English hills or testing my nerve skittering on a flighty horse through woodland.

The Park contains the ghost of Victorian grandeur - the lake, the noble gates, the ruined sculptures, the hazy vistas behind ancient trees. It's easy to wander round and expect a Victorian gentleman to come strolling by in a top hat and dress coat.

I made my breathless way back to the park gates and tried not to have a coronary, feeling content and euphoric despite my shit attempt at being A Runner.

I have a confession to make: Dear Hackney Road Tesco; the twenty pound note I paid for my shopping with had been safely ensconced in my sweaty minging trainer for the entire run. Sorry about that...